


Viceroy

by Romantik_Kun



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Chivalry, Drama, Fantasy, Graphic Description, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Smut, Tags May Change, non-canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 00:39:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13329819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romantik_Kun/pseuds/Romantik_Kun
Summary: "(...)And upon the throne now sat an evil king that dreamed of grandiose power."In an alternate universe, but also back in time; when men of valor fought sword in hand, a new adventure awaits our most cherished heroes. An ambitious tale painted with vivid color, and one to jog our imagination.





	Viceroy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, as some of you may know, I have been in something of a slump recently. Since I've had difficulty writing I thought: "What better ways to remedy this than to let my imagination go wild?" And so I've decided to start writing this piece. I don't expect it'll reach to a wide audience, and since it is something I do solely for fun, it doesn't matter either way. Of course, if some of you come to enjoy reading it, it'd be great! So come forth and dive into a tale of dragons, sorcery, swords and romance as I re-imagine our favorite character under a whole new light! And if you're reading this: thank you, you are my favorite person <3 
> 
> (Since I'll go back to this series whenever I have trouble writing I don't know how fast/slow the updates will come, but I do intend this to have multiple chapter. Do not worry if you read my other Series "Dead Man Walking" however, I will keep updating that one as regularly as possible. Thank you for your understanding.)
> 
> Edit: I apologize if the quality is inconsistent. Upon posting my final product I lost a major part of the story to the vagary of internet. I tried to mend it I best I could (staying up late to do so). So please be forgiving, thank you again <3

Once upon a time, in a quiet little town, north-east to the realm of Waschbar, resided a man. All his life he had served his hometown as a protector, a hero, and while he lacked the proper title, he was a knight by his own right. Skilled with a blade, valorous and truly kind; his name was known throughout the hold. Some even speculated that ,among his ancestors, lived a truly remarkable knight, and that it was through he that his family had earned the name: Redfield. In honor of his feat on the battlefield. Of course this was mere speculation, and whomever or whatever had earned them the awe aspiring honorific was long gone now, for his family was of humble upbringing. Which only added to his legend, a hero of the people for the people, although his "legend" was only ever spread inside the walls of this small town and never beyond. Whenever the king's knight passed through town, he could do nothing but watch from afar. And they, atop their mighty steed, could see nothing more than a simple commoner; an old sword slapped onto his belt. Only twice had he seen the military; once, in his young years and later, when only a few hair dusted his chin. Indeed, they had very little reason to visit a poor fishing town on the outlet of their kingdom. But he could never forget the stomp of their proud mounts and the shine of their armor. What they were meant to represent and how they held their heads high, always, wearing the colors of the king they served. While the only thing protecting this small city were meager walls of pointed wood and his lone self. From what? One might wonder. Desperate bandits sometimes tried their luck on their collect, but mostly; wildlife. So far into the forest, there were no shortage of wolves, bears and other predators. And while tales told of dragons and monsters, Christopher had never laid his eyes upon such manner of beast. All things considered, the woods were peaceful enough and his exploits; greatly exaggerated, by the elderly and the young alike. Nevertheless, he was content with his accomplishment. Only, when the world around him fell silent, he found himself dreaming of adventures.

Beneath a magnificent tree, atop a smooth hill in a meadow of red tulips he would lay and watch the sky. Leaving his home well an hour before sunrise, he walked the forest, arriving mere minutes before the sun dared glow its first lights. And resting among the crimson flower he would witness the night sky turn orange. Such was his ritual, whenever the weather permitted it. If per nature's vagary he was confined at home, he would help his sister prepare breakfast, surprising her with it at times. The two siblings had lost their parents at a young age, forging an unbreakable bond that would never be severed; nor by life, nor by death. Claire, was her name. Her hair; a beautiful red, captured the eyes of many and her beauty the heart of many more. Not a single young men in the hold had not thought about asking for her hand, at her door, everyday, laid small gifts and flowers. In a attempt to sway her attention, they would write clumsy letters describing her charms. Their quill was gauche, for none of them knew the proper ways of calligraphy. But neither did she, and she blushed, at times. Without feudal laws to bind them, in this remote village could love blossom truly. Although, the king was a fair man, and those not shackled by the blood of nobility were free to see to their own hearts. Christopher was of a mind with this; his sister would choose her own husband and her own ways. Only if he deemed her choice poor would he intervene, not as a man but as her brother; out of love and concern but never out of dominance. Such was their relationship.

And so the tale begins, one such morning, when grey cloud covered the sun and the heavens cried. Prisoner to this small cottage he called home until the storm would break. It was a simple hut, the walls; made of round wood kept the elements at bay. With the exception of one, sturdy wall of stone, upon which the oven rested. Inside baked two loafs of fresh bread, and upon the open flame rested a kettle; in which a soup bubbled. Filling the humble home with divine aromas. The shutters were closed, keeping the rain out, the orange light of wavering flames made the shadow dance. The oven and a few candles, that was it. On the floor and on his knees, close to the fire's warmth, Chris polished his old sword, the metallic sound accompanied the crackles of wood turned to ash. He wore a simple shirt, made of crude white cloth, his sleeved; he rolled up above his elbows. The open neck, sneaking a peak at his muscular shape. His pants were rather tight, made of old, tattered leather. Around his waist rested a sturdy belt, where he'd carry his trusty blade. His boots, coming up to his knees, and made of rough hide, somewhat hugged the shape of his legs. Pieces of metal adorned both toe and heel. Around his wrist were simple gauntlets and around his neck was a rustic necklace; a single piece of carved wood hung from a thin piece of rope. His pale green eyes glowed under the flickering of flames. As he focused on his task. 

"One day, that poor sword will be as thin as paper."

A giggle came from behind him, it was Claire. She and her brother were dressed akin, except she wore her hands naked and her boots; boasting short heels, wore no steel. By definition, it wasn't a very feminine way to dress. And her hair, kept above her shoulder, crowned a more "masculine" look. But it painted the picture of a strong and free woman, and no men would morn that in her. She sat beside the fire, keeping her sibling company. 

"You should take it to the forge." Her head came resting on his shoulder. 

"If we had the gold to spare..." 

"Idiot." She didn't let him finish. "Surely the blacksmith could mend it for free." 

He let out a short laugh. "It may be so, but it doesn't feel right to let work go unrewarded." He continued to smile. 

She chuckled softly, while getting up and toward the oven to check on her meal. "A shame you had to come into the world in this small place." She stated. "I'm certain the king could use a man like you." She knew of her brother's fascination with military work.

Christopher, laid his sword aside and sat upon a wooden stool, around a unpretentious table. 

"Bah! Even if I did go to the capital, without noble blood, I'd be a guard my whole life. If I am to guard something, I'd much rather it'd be this town and its people." 

She smiled faintly while she stirred the thick broth. It was true that only men of lineage were permitted to join the crown's knight. A most unjust affair, she thought.

Bringing the loafs out of the oven and onto the table she wore a pensive expression. There were a few things she wished for her brother to hear. She pondered the right time to discuss them, and found that now was as much a time as any other. She served two healthy portions of soup for them to enjoy, the earthy color was reminiscent of autumn leaves; a feast for the eyes. 

"You know-" She started. "This here is an old town, folks here are aging; having spent their whole life behind these walls. They wish for you to see the world, perhaps in their stead. And the young'uns, what they wouldn't give for you to come back with new stories." She chuckled. "Promise me this; if ever the chance arises for you to leave this place, take it. And carry with you the hearts of your people." 

"But-" 

"Half the people here think you're wasting your time already." She cut off, wearing a smug expression.

He returned her smile, opened his mouth as if to say something, but then; the door swung open, in the frame stood Emile, grand-children to the mayor. Breathless and soaked from the rain. 

"Chris! Chris!" He shouted. 

"Calm yourself child, what's happening?" He and Claire were already on their feet. 

"A knight! There's a knight!" He practically screamed, frantic. 

"A knight?" He repeated. 

"Grand-father said he wanted to speak with everyone." 

The siblings shared a look before following their young guide. Chris wondered; what could bring a man of the sword over in these parts? They had paid the monarch their due and next harvest was quite a ways off. Furthermore, it was rare for one of the order to act as messenger. What could be so important, that he needed to deliver the news himself? There were too many incongruity, suspicious, Chris probed the child for more details. 

"Tell me Emile, what did this man look like? Can you describe his armor?" 

Christopher was quite knowledgeable about the crown's guard, the old mayor would enjoy telling tales of the kingdom's finest. In playful displays, Chris was often made to play the part of a valorous knight. And so he had learned much, unlike the kids ,however, he had a mind to remember what he was taught. A chevalier's armor spelled out his life. There was much to be learned from one's attire. 

"He's tall, with blond hair; swept behind and looks very strict." 

"Yes, but what of his armor?" They neared the inn now. 

"Black with gold and so shiny, with furs around his neck!" He said, enthusiast.

Before he had the time to ponder it, they stepped foot into the establishment. Inside, the air was electric, a strange panic stagnated. The town's people exchanged worried gossips, none could hear beyond the crowd. The mayor's plea for silence went unheard, that is, until the hilt of a sheathed blade twice hit the ground in a thundering echo. The people went silent, obeying the unspoken command of the man whom the mayor stood next to; his head held low. Indeed, there stood a chevalier, his armor; ebony, lined with gold boasted an impeccable shine. Furs upheld his neck, and upon his shoulders rested the pelt of a mighty lion, along countless responsibilities; for this man was no mere knight, but a general to his highness. His visage; pale as snow, resembled that of a fox. A long and thin nose crowned the middle of his countenance, a narrow pair of eyes spied the crowd. Never in all his years had Chris seen such a stare; for this man shared the eyes of a beast. Finally, he spoke: 

"Good people, I bring ill news." He paused. "Our king is dead." 

Gasps raised in horror, a woman burst out in tears, the outraged of the mass quickly spiraled out of hand. It was common knowledge that the late king had no successor as of yet, many worried this would result in a attempt on his life. Seemingly, these concerns proved to be founded. But the general was quick to demand quietude once more, which was granted to him, amidst a few sobs. 

"There was a coup d'etat. His majesty was slain by the very people that swore to protect him. Guided by the beguiled hand of nobles, whom were promised favors in exchange for their help, in putting the usurper on the throne. Many houses have already recognized the false king as legitimate ruler, while I for one, shall see this injustice undone. My name is Albert Wesker; general to his highness; King Regis Messe and captain of the knights of Waschbar... Or so I used to be. My order is defiled, gutted by betrayal. And so, I scour the outer boundaries of his late mightiness kingdom in search of brave soul whom would share in my burden; so that justice may be rendered and his royal majesty; properly laid to rest." 

His monologue came to an end, yet nobody dared to speak. His traits hardened. 

"Is there no such bravery among you?" 

The masses turned to meet Christopher; whom had remained in shock. 

"You, there." The chevalier's glare found his eyes. "Give me your name." 

"Christopher Redfield, my lord." he straightened his posture, this came naturally to him, and seemed to please the general. 

"Tell me Christopher, is there a reason why these people turn to you, in times of doubt?" He asked, his expression; unreadable. 

"He's a hero!" The voice of a child raised above the silence. Quickly after the incident; the soft whispers of a concerned mother: "Hush child!"

"Is that the truth Christopher? Are you a hero?" The general asked. 

"I have defended the town's people as best I could for most of my years-" 

"That's not what I asked." He made way through the crowd whom dispersed to clear a straight path. "Again, are you a hero? Or aren't you?" 

Chris stayed silent for a short notice, meeting the eyes of most everyone in the room. These people, they believed him to be a hero, and so, he needed to be. 

"Yes, my lord, I am." He kept his head held high. 

There was a pending tension, sustained by a precarious silence. 

"We leave tomorrow at dawn." Was his answer. "I will see you outfitted and trained; if you aren't a hero already, you will be." And, adding nothing, he turned heel making ways for the door giving into his room for the night. 

And just like that, the wind had shifted.


End file.
